


gimme a boost over heaven's gate

by sunkelles



Series: Femslash February 2018 [8]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Eleanor Shellstrop, F/F, Femslash February, Lesbian Tahani Al-Jamil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-14 20:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13597353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: Instead of dying in Cincinnati, Tahani Al-Jamil sent the statue tumbling down onto a seeing eye dog, splattering its blood over the floor and the shoes of its handler. This, understandably, is terrible for her image.Tahani goes on a talk show to try to undo some of the damage, and she just happens to be scheduled on the same day as Eleanor Shellstrop, author of a how to guide for con artists.





	gimme a boost over heaven's gate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [titaniumsansa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniumsansa/gifts).



> the majority of this was written before the season finale so, sorry that it kind of lines up with the season finale and kind of doesn't 
> 
> the title is taken from Fall Out Boy's "Heaven's Gate" off of their new album Mania. it's my favorite song off the album and i thought that it really fit not only this fic but tgp in general

Tahani Al-Jamil is a lot of things. She’s a celebrity, known widely for her beauty, grace, and philanthropic efforts. She’s rich. She has the fashion taste of a fashion designer, stylist and model rolled into one. She has a drawer full of diamonds and a heart full of pride.

One thing that Tahani does not have? The tools to deal with disgrace, at least not publicly. Tahani has always, in some way, been disgraced. She was always the least favorite child, living in her more talented, beloved sister’s shadow: Jacob have I loved, and all that.

But the public? They never cared that she was the less talented sister, the less loved one. They always viewed her as a majestic creature that had stepped out of one of their fantasies, beautiful, poised, and ready to put on a charity fundraiser.

Then Tahani mucked that all up. She was just so angry and so jealous and everything felt so wrong. Sneaking into her sister’s party was a terrible idea, but she just couldn’t stop herself, especially after Kamilah admitted that she never thought about her at all. Tahani almost died in _Cincinnati,_ but instead she sent the statue tumbling down onto a seeing eye dog, splattering its blood over the floor and the shoes of its handler.

Maybe that was worse. If she had died, at least she wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout of this situation. Alright, perhaps she’s exaggerating. Tahani does not, in any way, want to stop being alive. She just wants the press to stop being such nosy parkers and leave her alone. She just wants them to smother her in accolades again, how’s that so hard to understand?

But no, instead the headlines the next day read: _Jealous Al-Jamil Sister Knocks Over Kamilah’s Statue, Kills Service Dog._

Tahani needs a chance to spin this story. She knows that there’s an angle that she can work. Perhaps she can garner sympathy from the public or host a public apology that will help the news blow over more smoothly. Hopefully, if it all goes well, this matter will be forgotten in a matter of weeks and Tahani can go back to being fabulous and and famous and well-loved.

She tries to get onto the Today Show. They won’t have her. She tries Ellen and Graham Norton and Live With Kelly And Whoever Her Male Host Of The Week is and Russell Howard and the host of American late night talk shows. None of them will take her. She even tries _Jerry bloody Springer_ and he won’t take her. She has scrapped the bottom of the barrel and come up empty.

She has to try the muddy, disgusting ground underneath the barrel. Underneath the bottom of the barrel, apparently, is a primarily Midwestern talk show hosted in Indianapolis, Indiana.

She’s gone from almost dying in Cincinnati  to trying to restart her life in Indianapolis. Apparently when the mighty fall it's into the American Midwest. This is a new kind of low point in Tahani’s life and career, but she refuses to not take the opportunity. Tahani Al-Jamil is a woman who makes things happen. She goes out and gets things. She’s a trendsetter, and maybe? Joan Callamezzo’s talk show is a trend that just hasn’t been set yet.

Leslie Knope, American presidential candidate, appeared on the show many times before it even relocated from her tiny, trash town to the largest trash town in Indiana. Perhaps this show is just a stepping stone to greater things and real, public forgiveness.

Tahani schedules herself an interview, and books a plane to Indianapolis. Her hotel is not like one that she could have gotten in London or Paris or New York, but she supposes that it’s sufficient for somewhere as miniscule and inconsequential as _Indianapolis._ She doesn’t even have to spend an hour there primping before she needs to leave for her interview, anyway.

When she arrives, she's not impressed by that building, either, but she reminds herself that she needs this. She needs to win back the affections of the public in order to continue being _Tahani Al-Jamil, beloved philanthropist._ Her image demands it. So she smiles and sticks her hand out to shake the short little assistant and thank her for having Tahani on the show. The girl blushes, and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Tahani says.

“Nice to meet you, too,” the girl says, trying to peak out at Tahani through her unkempt fringe.

“Yo,” another woman says, pushing past the assistant, “where do you want me?”

“You won’t go on until after Ms. Al-Jamil,” the assistant says, “so you can wait anywhere backstage.” The other woman frowns, then looks her way. She looks over Tahani approvingly from toes to tits, spending a little too long on them before she meets Tahani’s eyes.

“Who is this?” Tahani asks. She asks it exactly the same way that she’d ask a manager at a hotel “what is this?” if she found a bit of hair in her sink or someone else’s rubbish still in the bin.

“This is Eleanor Shellstrop, our other guest today,” the assistant says.

“Damn,” Eleanor says, “you’re a sexy skyscraper, aren’t you?”

“No, I'm not,” Tahani says, "you’re just tiny.” The woman can’t be much more than five feet tall.

“Ah,” Eleanor Shellstrop says, “that doesn’t make my thing _less_ true. You’re so tall it’s ridic.” Tahani glares.

“I’ve been told that I’m an Amazonian beauty,” Tahani says sharply. Eleanor grins.

“I’m not denying that, hot stuff,” she says. Tahani honestly can’t tell if the woman is flirting with her in earnest. Then again, most women who flirt with her to set her off balance don’t stare at her tits.

“What do you even do?” Tahani asks.

“I wrote a book,” Eleanor says. Well, that’s respectable. Tahani thinks that she can handle having Eleanor follow her up. Writing a book is a fairly respectable enterprise.

“What is it about?”

“How to con stupid people out of money,” Eleanor says with a grin, “I have a lot of experience with that.”

“You’re a _con woman?”_ Tahani says.

“Yup,” Eleanor says, “it’s my career of choice. A grifter with true grit-” she gestures widely as if showing Tahani the words written on a billboard, “that’s the tagline of my book.”

“You’re not even denying it?”

“Nah,” Eleanor says, “I’m making my fortune talking about it. This book? It’s making me more money than selling fake drugs to old people ever did.”

“That’s awful,” Tahani says, “you should- you should be _ashamed_ of yourself.”

“I don’t think the woman who killed a poor blind lady’s doggie has any room to criticize my life choices,” Eleanor says smoothly.

“That was an accident,” Tahani says, “and I’m going to apologize for it. You shouldn’t be writing books about conwomanship; you should be repenting for it.”

“Hey.” Eleanor says, “I don’t break any laws, I just slip through the massive loopholes in the system.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Tahani says. Eleanor shrugs.

“Do I look like I care?” Eleanor looks confident and self-assured, which no one who cons people for a living should be able to manage.

“You look like you’ve never cared about anything in your life,” Tahani says. Eleanor points a finger at her, almost sticking it in her face.

“Exactly,” she says with wide, wild eyes. Tahani has no idea what to do with _that_.

“Miss Al-Jamil,” the assistant says, “you’re on in one.” Then, Tahani steps onto the stage to meet Joan Calamezzo, the most well known talk show host in the American Midwest. The lights are bright enough to pass for press, but not bright enough to fool Tahani into thinking that she’s somewhere more important than Indianapolis, Indiana.

“I’m Joan Calamezzo and this is The Indiana Experience,” she says with a winning smile. “I’m here today with Tahani Al-Jamil, fresh off her recent public humiliation.”

“I wouldn’t call it a humiliation,” Tahani says, trying not to sound as offended as she feels, “more like a learning experience. I made a mistake, and I’ve learned from it. Now I’m learning how to move forward.”

“Well,” Joan says patronizingly, “that’s one way to think about it.”

“I made a mistake, Joan,” Tahani says, “but I’m trying to make things better.”

“Have you spoken to your sister about this? Her sister, of course, is Kamilah Al-Jamil, famous painter, Olympic gold medalist, Grammy and BAFTA winner, and youngest person to be admitted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.” Tahani steels herself, and tries to plaster on her fakest smile.

“My sister didn’t have anything to say to me,” Tahani says.

“Even after you crashed her party, toppled her statue and killed a dog?” Joan asks, “surely your sister would have some comment.”

“She didn’t,” Tahani says, “now can we please move onto the actual apology?”

“My viewers love a scandal, Tahani,” Joan says, “I’m in the business of tearing people down, not building them up.”

“Is that going to go on the air?” Tahani asks, her voice tight and uncomfortable. She feels like a slinky that two kids have decided to stretch as far as possible before letting it snap back together.

“Of course,” Joan says, “we’re live.”

“And you just said ‘my viewers love a scandal’ on live television? Won’t they find that insulting?” Tahani can’t believe that she was desperate enough to agree to this.

“No,” Joan says, “my viewers know that they tune in for. Now, it seems it’s time for commercial. After the break we’ll meet Eleanor Shellstrop, a conwoman who made a fortune selling fake drugs to the elderly.” Then, the cameras stop.

“You were fabulous, Tahani,” Joan says, “exactly what I was hoping for.” Tahani glares.

“What does that mean?” Tahani asks, stiffening.

“You were easy to rile up- we’ll be swimming in scandal by the end of this show,” Joan says, “so thank you, Tahani, for letting me tell your story.”

“You didn’t ‘tell my story’ you made me look worse on purpose,” Tahani accuses.

“Pah-tay-to pah-tah-to,” Joan says, “either way, you got publicity. All press is good press.”

“That was _not_ good press,” Tahani says, standing up. She’s ready to leave and try to pretend that this never happened.

“You should stick around for my second guest,” Joan says, “I’m sure you’ll look more favorable in my viewers’ eyes once they see her.” Well, Tahani can’t deny that’s probably true. Eleanor Shellstrop will definitely make her look better just by going on the show.

Maybe she’ll stick around backstage and watch that train wreck happen. It might distract her from her own train wreck, at least. Tahani takes one of the black plastic chairs backstage and plants herself there for the rest of the show.

“My second guest today is Eleanor Shellstrop. Eleanor made herself a fortune selling fake medicine to the elderly, and she made a second fortune selling a book detailing how she did it and other ideas and suggestions for your own scams. Eleanor, I just have one question for you: have you no shame?”

“Nope,” Eleanor says, “pretty sure I was born without it.”

“See,” Joan says, gesturing to Eleanor like she’s the prize on a game show, “absolutely no shame. It’s a modern marvel.”

“So,” Eleanor says, leaning back in her chair, “whaddya wanna know?” Joan asks Eleanor a host of questions about her “business”, both how she pulled it off and how she shut off her conscience. Every word that comes out of her mouth makes Tahani feel worse.

She shared airspace with this woman. Perhaps Eleanor is making her look better, but it’s only because Tahani has lowered her standards. She hasn’t been raised up; she’s been dragged down. Looking better than Eleanor Shellstrop, professional dealer of fake drugs and pedaler of con artistry should not feel like this much of an accomplishment. It shouldn’t feel like an accomplishment at all. She’s gotten down in the dirt to mud wrestle the worst of the worst- she just happens to be less muddy than her opponent.

Eleanor walks over to her chair and plants herself next to it, crossing her arms over her chest.

“So,” Eleanor says, “enjoy the show, Miss Sophisticated?”

“I did, actually,” Tahani says, “it made me feel better about myself.” Not much, but it did make her feel a little better. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Eleanor says, “you didn’t come out of this squeaky clean just ‘cause you went before me.”

“What is your point?” Tahani asks through gritted teeth.

“You might think you’re better than me, but you’re not,” Eleanor says.

“We’ve already had this conversation,” Tahani growls.

“I’m a persistent little gremlin,” Eleanor says, “it’s how I sold so many fake drugs to old people.”

“Would you stop sounding so _proud_ of that,” Tahani shouts.

“I happen to like myself, warts and all,” Eleanor says, “but you know, it sounds like you don’t.”

“I don’t what?” Tahani demands.

“Like yourself,” Eleanor says, sounding almost pitying, “seems like even before this dog-bacle you didn’t like yourself.”

“Go back to insulting me or shut up,” Tahani hisses. At least the verbal dueling was kind of turning her on. This pitying tone just makes Tahani feel small and insignificant. She doesn’t want to feel that way around _Eleanor Shellstrop_ of all people. Then, that smirk returns to Eleanor’s lips. She leans in closer to Tahani, leaving only an inch between their mouths.

“Then make me, hot stuff,” Eleanor challenges, hot breath ghosting Tahani’s lips. And well, Tahani’s never been one to back down from a challenge, or a kiss from a beautiful woman.

Suddenly, Eleanor’s in her lap and Tahani’s wrapping her arms around the smaller woman, trying to draw her closer. Eleanor’s warm and solid against her, and all Tahani wants is to pull her closer. She settles her kissing her harder.

Maybe making out with another woman in a mudslinging talk show host’s studio in Indiana isn’t the smartest thing that Tahani’s ever done, but it’s not quite the dumbest either. She has enough mental capacity to suggest that they get an uber to take back to her hotel room.

They get an uber and pay her extra to let them keep making out in the backseat, and the stumble their way up to Tahani’s hotel room. Tahani kisses her again as soon as they get there, hot and desperate with more tongue than Tahani’s ever used before.

It spirals from there. At least, however, the spiral is sexy and not downward or emotional. Tahani doesn’t even expect Eleanor to still be there when she wakes up, but she is. Eleanor has her arms wrapped around Tahani’s waist, the shortest woman Tahani’s ever slept with trying to play the big spoon. It’s actually a little adorable. It feels like she’s wearing a persistent koala as a backpack.

“So,” Eleanor says, “how about that sex?”

“It was good,” Tahani admits. Really good. Embarrassingly good, actually. She doesn’t feel like the best sex that she’s ever had should have been with a conwoman in a Holiday Inn Express in Indianapolis.

“Can I talk to you, like, for real?” Eleanor asks.

“Alright,” Tahani says. That was not what she was expecting from this morning, but she supposes she’ll take it. She didn’t exactly have plans.

“What I said yesterday, about liking myself,” Eleanor says, “that wasn’t true. I don’t like myself.”

“Oh,” Tahani says. This is a lot deeper than she expected when Eleanor said she wanted to talk for real. Whenever people tell Tahani they want to talk for real it’s to tell her their real opinions on classic literature or music- something that’s considered embarrassing by high society. She wasn’t expecting to play therapist.

“It wasn’t fair to make fun of you for not liking yourself when I don’t either,” Eleanor says. Tahani can tell that the apology took a lot out of the woman, and Tahani sort of appreciates it. She’s also just highly confused.

“Why would you think I don’t like myself?” Tahani asks.

“It’s kind of obvious, hot stuff,” Eleanor says.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tahani says tightly.

“You’re so focused on keeping up your social standing,” Eleanor says, “and you totally freaked when Joan brought up your sister. Seems like all your charm and self-confidence is manufactured.” Tahani opens her mouth to argue. She wants to, really. But the more that she thinks about it, the more she realizes that Eleanor is _right._ Her sense of self-worth is completely tied up in her connections and the way that other people view her.

Everything that she’s ever done has been to beat her sister, even now, she’s just trying to rebuild her reputation so that maybe she can beat Kamilah. Maybe, just maybe, someday in the future she’ll step out of her sister’s far-reaching shadow.

“You’re right,” Tahani says, “I don’t like myself either. We’re just two sad women wallowing in self pity.”

“At least we’re not straight,” Eleanor says. Tahani laughs.

“Yes, there is that,” Tahani says, “I don’t know if that helps our good person points, though.” Eleanor shrugs.

“I’ve never cared about my “good person points” before. I’m not even sure where I’d start,” Eleanor says. She sounds a little torn up about this.

“Honestly, I don’t know any more,” Tahani says. She’d always thought that she was a good person, but she doesn’t know anymore, not really. If she wasn’t already a good person she doesn’t know how she would better herself. She only knows how to be what she already is.

“What if _you’re_ right, though,” Eleanor says.

“I’m right about a lot of things,” Tahani says, forcing a grin, “you’ll have to be more specific.”

“About the apologizing thing,” Eleanor says.

“You’re really thinking about it?” Tahani asks.

“Well,” Eleanor says, “I don’t know. I’m not a good person either way.” Tahani can’t exactly contradict that. Tahani might not be a good person, but she knows Eleanor isn’t either.

“I don’t fucking know how to be a good person,” Eleanor admits, “you do charity and shit, can’t you help?”

“I don’t think that I can,” Tahani admits, “All I ever cared about was my reputation. I accidentally killed a woman’s _dog_ and all I cared about was the public’s perception. I don’t think that I’m a good person either." 

“Well,” Eleanor says, “how are we gonna get better now?” Tahani has absolutely no idea. Absently, she grabs the remote and flips on the telly. She sees Joan Calamezzo’s smiling, plastic face plastered on the screen.

“Tune in next time when I interview the moral philosophy professor who was paralyzed by indecision while his best friend died and a drug dealing DJ from Florida who almost died during a failed robbery.”

“Moral philosophy? That’s good person shit, right?” Eleanor asks.

“Hypothetically, yes,” Tahani says, “But ‘paralyzed by indecision while his best friend died’ doesn’t really scream ‘best person to ask advice from’ to me.”

“But he studies this for a living,” Eleanor says, “he has to know _something_ about it, at least more than we do.” That is a good point. Even if he’s not good at using his knowledge, he must have a lot of it.

“Alright,” Tahani says, “we should speak to this Chidi Anagonye.”

“So how are we gonna do it?” Eleanor asks, “sneak in through the back of the studio. Wait at the door to harass him?”

“I was thinking we’d just buy tickets?” Tahani says. She thought that was obvious.

“Gonna be honest,” Eleanor says, “my bank account’s not looking so hot right now. Don’t think I can drop a hundred bucks on a ticket just tee bee aitch.”

“I can buy us both tickets, Eleanor,” Tahani says, “I’m rich.”

“Oh,” Eleanor says, “noice. You know, when I was in high school I told all the guidance counselors my plans for life were getting a sugar daddy. I was equal opportunity. Guess I’m living the dream now.” Tahani shudders.

“Please, never say that again.”

“What, sugar daddy? I guess you’d be my sugar mommy instead,” Eleanor says.

“Both of those are hideous, Eleanor,” Tahani says, “it’s just a date.” She’s just a woman paying for her date. It’s not that big of a deal.

“Just a regular date, then. I can work with that,” Eleanor says. Tahani highly doubts that, but Tahani doesn’t think she can work with it either. She doesn’t exactly have room to judge. All of her relationships have either been secret flings with women she barely knew or public affairs with famous men she never liked. Being a famous, closeted lesbian doesn’t breed conditions suitable for healthy relationships. 

 

 

 

They go. They buy tickets. They listen. Tahani, at least, suffers through some secondhand embarrassment. Joan really outdid herself with these two. Professor Anagonye is obviously well-educated (and the almost but not quite French accent seems to accentuate that) but he’s a nervous wreck as well, sweating and stammering and apologizing the whole time. Granted, Tahani wasn’t much better and she just killed a _dog,_ but still. It’s painful.

Mr. Mendoza is better in some ways and in other ways he’s worse. He’s completely unaware that what he did was wrong or even strange. He seems unaware of anything outside of himself. It makes for hilarious television if you’re not thinking about it too closely. Tahani, though, has started thinking about things much more closely and it just seems sad.

They go to try to talk to Professor Anagonye afterwards, but are somehow intercepted by Mr. Mendoza on their way backstage.

“I’m Jason Mendoza,” he says, “I was just on TV!” He has all the enthusiasm and intelligence of a golden retriever. It’s almost endearing.

“You’re the man who almost died trying to rob a restaurant in Florida?” Tahani asks.

“I _did_ do that,” Jason says, “but I don’t like to think about it that way. I’m the dude that’s still alive and got married to his best bro!”

“Congrats on the wedding, bro,” Eleanor says, “wish you and Pillboi the best.”

“Thank you!” Jason says with a wide smile, “we _are_ the best.”

“That’s not what she meant,” Tahani says.

“Ah, let him be,” Eleanor says, “he seems happy.” Jason drags Chidi out by the hand.

“This is my boy Chidi! He knows shit about ethnics,” Jason says sagely.

“Ethics, Jason,” Chidi says, sounding exasperated. Tahani has a feeling that they’ve had this conversation before.

“Oh great,” Eleanor says, “we don’t even have to track you down.”

“You were looking for me?” Chidi asks. He looks confused.

“Yes, we were looking for you, Chidi Anna Clumsky,” Eleanor says.

“Anagonye,” Tahani corrects. Chidi looks exhausted.

“What do you two want?” he asks.

“Teach us your good person mojo,” Eleanor says.

“I don’t know if I _have_ good person mojo,” Chidi says.

“You’ve got more of it than I do,” Eleanor says. Tahani appreciates that Eleanor did not say “we” right then and drag her into it. 

“You do know why I was on this show, right?” Chidi asks.

“Yesterday, we were on that show. Tahani accidentally killed a blind lady’s seeing eye dog and I sell fake medicine to old people. We’ve got no room to judge.” Well, Eleanor not dragging her dirty laundry into this was nice while it lasted.

“Perhaps we can get better together,” Tahani says, “you know ethics. I’ve done charity work. Eleanor wants to be a better person. Perhaps together we can make one fully functioning, moral adult.”

“Can I join you?” Jason asks.

“Because you want to become a better person?” Chidi asks.

“Not really,” Jason says, “I just like being part of a team!”

“You can join,” Eleanor says. Tahani and Chidi both send her the same confused look.

“Look, he’s a boundless void of confidence,” she says, “maybe somewhere in there we can find our own.” That does seem to be true.

“Alright,” Tahani says, “I am fine with admitting the Floridian. Chidi?” Even Chidi’s sigh somehow sounds French.

“Fine,” he says, between gritted teeth. Jason’s smile could light up a pitch black sky.

“Go Team!” he shouts. Then, he looks contemplative.

“We need a name. How ‘bout Ethnics Revolution!” Tahani sputters.

Jason doesn't seem deterred by her reaction, “Like Dance Dance Revolution, but about ethnics!”

“ETHICS!” Chidi shouts. Eleanor claps Jason on the back.

“How about we chose a different name, bucko.”

“The Jacksonville Jaguars?” Jason suggests.

“Sorry, already taken,” Eleanor says. 

“We don’t need a team name,” Chidi says, “we’re just a group of people learning together.”

“What about Eleanor and the Zombies?” Eleanor says, “because, like, all three of you were on this show because you almost died.”

“No,” Tahani says. Chidi rubs his forehead. Jason starts acting like a zombie.

“Why don’t be just call ourselves Team Good People,” Tahani says, “that’s what we want to become, right?”

“That’s lame,” Jason says.

“We don’t _need_ a team name to begin with!” Tahani hisses.

“Wait!’ Chidi says, holding a finger to the sky, “we could be Out of Kant-trol!” Eleanor sends Tahani a confused look.

“Is that a pun?” Eleanor asks, sending Tahani a "please help me" look. 

“I assume so,” Tahani says, “but I don’t get it.”

“Kant- Kant is my _favorite_ philosopher.” Chidi says, “and being out of Kant-trol? It’s a good pun, right?" He has the self-satisfied look of someone who managed clever wordplay in a language they learned later in life. 

“Uh, sure babe,” Eleanor says, “whatever floats your nerd boat.”

“Fine,” Tahani says. She never cared about the name of the team anyway.

“We’re Out of Control!” Jason shouts, pumping a fist in the air.

“Kant-trol,” Chidi corrects.

“Control!” Jason repeats. Chidi sighs. He realizes that this is a lost cause. Maybe they all are.

“What if it doesn’t even matter?” Tahani asks.

“What do you mean?” Eleanor asks.

“What if it doesn’t matter if we get better? What if no one cares?” Tahani asks. Everything that she’s ever done has been for external validation. She’s not sure if she can actually manage this if there isn’t any.

“Don’t you want to feel like a better person?” Eleanor asks, “I know I do.” Tahani thinks about her conscience. She considers the way that she’s stuffed the little guy to the bottom of her heart, and crushed his little cricket body with her shoe. Maybe life would be easier if she just let her conscience do as he pleased.

“Alright,” Tahani says, “let’s do this. Let’s get better. Together.” Tahani’s only ever gone about life alone, really. It’s nice to be in this together, for once.

“Together,” Eleanor says.

“Together,” Chidi agrees.

“We’re all in this together!” Jason sings, “and it shows when we stand-” He takes one of her hands and one of Chidi’s- “hand in hand make our dreams come true!” He raises them towards the sky. Chidi seems uncomfortable, but Tahani and Eleanor both laugh. They complete the circle of hand-holding.

“Together,” they promise. Maybe together they can make this life they’re living worthwhile.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. the Jacob have I loved and all that line refers both to a biblical story about a younger brother who was more loved than his older brother and a great book by Katherine Patterson. Highly recommend it if you're interested in YA lit
> 
> 2\. Jason Mendoza is a beautiful pansexual who just wants to run down the altar with someone he loves, okay. Let him and Pillboi be happy


End file.
